No Room for Two
by SilentProtagonist000
Summary: Cynthia wasn't a bad girl; she never tried to be, and if she was, she didn't know it. But a self-proclaimed bad boy just might change her opinion about herself. Lance/Cynthia, Wikierrorshipping. Warning: Racy. Proceed with caution.


Cynthia wasn't a bad girl, she just liked to have her hair pulled.

She didn't think that was disgusting or negative in any way, though she still preferred not to tell people about her sexual habits. After all, she did come from a very conservative part of Sinnoh—she was primarily raised by her grandmother in Celestic Town after her parents abandoned her not long after her birth, and Carolina was as proper as it came. A renowned scientist, Cynthia's grandmother did not take any nonsense from her in regards to any issue—and also refused to discuss puberty or normal aging with her. Cynthia had to find out about her periods on her own; and she experimented with boys in high school without knowing a thing about what to do or what she would experience. Eventually, she found out that she enjoyed it—especially after one young man tied one of her wrists to the headboard of his bed and had her pull her hair with the other when she was eighteen. Cynthia could not remember his name, but she thanked and hated him at the same time for forcing her to discover a fetish that she'd rather have hidden—along with the rest of herself, but that clearly wasn't an option, for she showed promise in Pokemon battling and secured a reputation very quickly after she became an adult.

When she prevailed against the former Champion of the Sinnoh League, it became impossible for Cynthia to go anywhere without being noticed. A simple trip to Veilstone City to go shopping was always thwarted by stampeding fans; and if they weren't blatantly charging toward her, she was eyed salaciously by old men or sexually confused teenagers of both sexes, implying that they might attack if they were alone. Cynthia was no longer enthusiastic about going out in public anymore, and disguises weren't an option. She was utterly in unrestricted eye, meaning every move she made would be judged and scrutinized to the point of obsession, from purchasing a hamburger at a fast food joint to trying to discreetly buy new underwear.

Even her private life was in jeopardy, as the tabloids were on a never-ending search about whom she was (and wasn't) dating and what she liked to do in bed. The celebrity status was taking a toll on Cynthia's sex life, and ultimately, she realized she hadn't had a boyfriend in the several years that she'd been Champion. In that long, she hadn't even had casual sex—for she feared her fans would look down upon her for engaging in promiscuity. Cynthia was a role model for many young women, and she didn't want to encourage bad behavior. But she never thought that liking her hair pulled was that bad—but in sexual terms, it was, so she did not try and pursue men. If they did find out about her, they'd go out and tell the world that Cynthia, the Champion of Sinnoh, was a kinky slut. Having their way with her was a goal for men all over the Pokemon nation, and Cynthia knew that succumbing to her desires with a normal citizen would be the death of her.

But there was only one type of man that, no matter how dark and disturbing her fixations, would never reveal her to the population—the four Champions of the other regions. They were all exactly like her; unable to satiate their own wants and trapped in the domain of the millions of watchful eyes upon them. Being men, Cynthia imagined that it was much harder to resist the opposite sex than it was for her. What better way to make amends for all of them than to consort among each other? Yet, sadly, Cynthia found not one of them even remotely attractive—Steven Stone was a good friend and not confident enough to be a lover; Alder himself was strange for her taste, and Red was too young. At first, Cynthia was not interested in any of the other Champions, and she fell into disappointment.

Then there was Lance of Johto.

She met him at her second Champions' Conference where every Elite Four member and Champion from each region met to discuss political and societal issues in their area. He'd been notoriously absent from her first, so his sudden presence sucked all the air from the room as he entered. Lance Wataru was a tall, strongly built redhead that exuded a sense of intelligence and authority, even from a marked distance. He wore sturdy boots that reached his knees and a designed jumpsuit with a long, flowing cape, attached to his neck with intricate gold chains—a signature of any Dragon-type trainer. His calculating golden eyes flickered across the room, nodding in greeting at those already seated as they stared at him in awe, for he'd ducked in a few minutes late. There was an empty seat next to Cynthia, so he gladly took it, smiling pleasantly at the blonde woman before turning his attention back to the debate. Cynthia could feel the heat of his powerful body radiating toward her, and she felt a tug of arousal that she'd not known in months.

Twenty minutes later, Cynthia could no longer ignore the magnetism between them. She leaned over and whispered to the man, "Are you the infamous Johto Champion that was missing last time? Everyone was complaining that you weren't here before."

"Am I that much of a nuisance?" His tone was rich and seductive, a baritone that made Cynthia's mouth water. "I didn't know. I've got other things to do than attend this pointless meeting."

"It's only once every two years," Cynthia nagged quietly. "The least you could do is show up and represent your region."

"My region is a mess," Lance said. "I do my best to improve it, but that isn't my call. It's up to the people, not an individual." He chuckled. "And let me guess—you're the 'infamous' Sinnoh Champion that is rumored to be the most beautiful woman in the League?"

Cynthia blushed. People said that about her? She wasn't sure how she felt. "Beauty is only skin deep," she mumbled, a common cliché that he grandmother often used.

"Oh, so you're admitting to your flaws?" Lance inquired. He leaned in further, his taut but plump lips brushing noticeably against her ear as he spoke. "Like how, in spite of your loveliness, you haven't gotten any in quite a while?"

Immediately, as if she'd been stung by a Beedrill, Cynthia's head whipped around, her flaxen hair a whirlwind as she nearly slapped Lance's cheek with her own. "How would you know about something like that?" She hissed, glancing around the room to make sure that no one heard. "You prick."

"I can tell," Lance told her. "I see it in the way that you sit and hear it in the lilt of your speech. You're uncomfortable, awkward, aching for the release that hasn't found you in so long." He drew back and smiled, a devilish expression on his exceptionally handsome face. "According to the people of Johto, my sex appeal is very high to the women—young and old—who follow my antics, so to speak. But, like you, I haven't had the time or patience with the paparazzi to involve myself with someone not of my stature."

"I'm assuming," Cynthia said carefully, "that I am of your stature."

"You assume right," Lance purred. The very sound of him made Cynthia's heart pound with a mounting desire. "The only people that Champions should be sleeping with are other Champions. I know you feel the same way."

"This is it, right?" Cynthia asked. "No relationship? No strings attached? No commitment?" The last thing that she needed as a service to her region was to be emotionally involved with the head of another. Casual sex was not binding, though it did carry the risk. But it was a risk Cynthia was willing to take—in sacrifice of her blinding abstinence, it deserved to exist.

"I need nothing like that either," Lance laughed, slow and alluring. "I give you my word."

"Where are you staying tonight, then?"

Reaching down beneath the table, away from the view of the preponderance of the souls in the room, Lance trailed a hand up her black-clad thigh. He dipped a finger into a belt loop, dangerously close to touching her in a place that was highly inappropriate for their situation. "Why wait," he whispered, massaging her hip through the fabric of her clothes, "when there's a private bathroom just down the hall?" With that, he got up and disappeared through the door he'd previously entered in, the flutter of his cape as silent as a butterfly's wings. No one knew that he was gone—the rest of the Elite Fours and Champions were too busy bickering to notice. To be safe and to not arouse suspicion, Cynthia waited for ten minutes before rising from her chair and exiting after him.

The sex was as incredible as Cynthia had briefly envisioned it. The bathroom was enclosed and barely had any room for two, but it served its purpose well. Due to their location, they could not take long, but Lance was as swift as he was satisfying. He was extremely well-endowed and he filled Cynthia beyond her limitations—she had to buck her entire hips to meet him as they pressed against the wall, her body divided between sheer discomfort and intense pleasure as his hands roamed to free her breasts from her low-cut, elegant blouse. He had sinuous, curly chest hair that matched the scarlet of his head, and Cynthia fought the urge to grab at his chiseled self. Lance fondled every inch of her partially clothed self as he thrust, pressing shells of half-formed kisses and nips onto her neck to silence her if she moaned too loudly. Cynthia felt the pressure in her nether regions build as he increased his speed, the gracelessness of their standing position somehow stimulating her.

"Please," she gasped without thinking, the closeness addling her brain. "Pull my hair. Oh, please!"

She could feel Lance grinning against her neck, the sweat from their nearly naked bodies, highly amused at her request. "Ah?" He said breathlessly, knotting a fistful of her pale ringlets in his thick fingers. "You're a perverted one. That's unbelievably hot." With a sharp jerk, he wrenched Cynthia's head roughly to the right. The sparks of pain that stabbed Cynthia's scalp caused her to yelp softly and pushed her into oblivion. She came around him with a strength that was completely new to her—harder and faster that she'd ever felt before. With a groan at the sensation of her orgasm, Lance finished inside her, waiting for a moment or two for the moment to die down before pulling out.

As the pair corrected their attire and adjusted their stunned selves in the mirror, Cynthia reached out and ran her thumb over the abrasive patch of hair that stretched above Lance's bellybutton and fanned out between either of his shoulders. "This is sexy," she remarked.

Suddenly, Lance grabbed her wrist and squeezed so violently that Cynthia perceived all blood flow cut off briefly from her hand, leaving her veins throbbing with a sweet taste that she couldn't place—and felt guilty about. His eyes glinted with hunger and provocation, daring her to approach him further. "Everything about you is sexy," he rumbled. "Especially that little penchant you have about pain. If that's how you like it, I'd love to play with you some more. Bruise you. Bite you. Make you scream." He tightened his grip on her wrist, and Cynthia's breath quickened. Excitement reared within her once more—and she realized that it was not simply her hair that was sensitive to arousal and pain.

Lance let her go, a enormous red ring angrily circling where his fist once was. "I'm staying next door to this conference hall," he informed her. "Room 224. I'll see you when this is over." Smirking wolfishly, he donned the top of his jumpsuit and his cape and left her behind in the restroom. Cynthia rubbed her wrist, her heartbeat irregular and panting.

She wasn't a bad girl, she told herself. Lance was just a bad boy—she just liked to have her hair pulled.

_And perhaps a bit more._


End file.
